


Changing Tides

by misscai



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Budding Love, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Insecurity, because i could not resist, use of the line "hooley dooley"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 22:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7733008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscai/pseuds/misscai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junkrat never really felt embarrassed of his missing limbs, until he's in the presence of someone who (he thinks) is perfect. But she's no stranger to scars, and he's about to find that out. (Junkrat x my OW OC, Noa "Nereid" Keahi)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changing Tides

**Author's Note:**

> SO. I'm incredibly nervous about posting this, but it's on my "fuckit" list so here it is. Noa Keahi is my OC, she is sort of an offense hero whose weapon is water. If anyone is interested in hearing more about her after this, there may be a few other stories I could post... (aka please tell me if you liked it, I need validation !!)

He'd thought it would be safe to take off his prosthetics for a quick clean-up, while Mako was keeping Noa busy in the common room that the two junkers shared. Some movie was playing, loudly—the type that Jamison would like, with lots of explosions and gunfire taking up more time than the dialogue scenes. But instead of sticking around to watch, Jamison had retreated to his room. And his disappearance had nothing to do with the way a new sweet citrus scent was messing with his heart rate.

It had been too long since he scrubbed the grime and explosive dust off of his metal arm and leg, and the somewhat beige towel he was using had already turned black by the first few swipes. Not bothering to reattach the prosthetics, Jamison stood and sort of hop-shuffled across the room to get a new cloth. At least, that was his intention. As soon as he was off the bed, he noticed a shadow in the doorway—a shadow that wasn't really a shadow, but rather a messy flow of dark hair.

“Shit!” Jamison exclaimed, losing his balance and tumbling to the floor, taking the duvet from the bed with him. Face burning, he covered his entire body with the blanket, silent but internally cursing himself, her, and everything else he could think of.

“Jamie, are you okay?” There was a sliver of light coming through from where the edge of the duvet didn't reach the floor. Two feet—bare, naturally, with sparkling blue toenails and a cluster of silver anklets—appeared in the gap, followed by a hand touching his shrouded shoulder. “We're a little old to play peekaboo, y'know.” He scrambled to sit upright, pulling the cover away from his head but keeping it on the rest of his body as best he could.

He'd never cared about other people seeing him without his prosthetic limbs, not until she'd come along with her perfect everything. The new Overwatch was entirely made up of people like him, who had been through a hell of a lot and had the scars to show it. Most days Jamison counted himself lucky. He could've been killed and brought back. He could have been so badly mutilated that he needed a new metal body. He could have been adrift in time, at the mercy of a harness that kept him corporeal. So losing half an arm and half a leg wasn't really the worst thing.

But then there was Noa, who had all of her body parts and no metal bits. No scars that he'd ever seen. He didn't think she even had freckles. She was perfect, and it made his skin crawl to be near her. Like if he spent enough time with her, she'd find him lacking. Or worse, become disgusted by his disfigurement.

For the few short weeks she'd been with Overwatch, Jamison exited the room when she came in. He was suddenly busy with the intricacies of bomb-making whenever she glanced his way. He would be late for a mission when she tried to talk to him. Mako called it 'running away squealing'; Jamison thought it was more of a tactical withdrawal. Now, though, he was stuck between a mattress and a goddess with nowhere to go.

Noa sat cross-legged in front of him, just looking at him with a half-smile on her face. Then her gaze flicked over to the prosthetics that had fallen to the ground in all the earlier commotion. She took hold of the hand, examining it closely and laughing at the dirt that crusted the orange-tinted metal. “Can I try something?”

“Uh... sure.”

“Cool.” She dug around in the pocket of her denim shorts, making a little triumphant noise when she retrieved a bag full of tiny discs. One by one, she placed them on her fingertips, then added larger discs to her palms. “Winston and Satya made these for me. They work kind of like the moon does on the tides. They let me move water.” To demonstrate, Noa snagged the mostly-empty water bottle nest to Jamison's bed—used to douse accidentally-lit fuses—and unscrewed the cap. Then she made a pinching motion above the open spout and lifted the water out, as if it were all on a string. Carefully, she maneuvered her hands so that the water washed the grime from the prosthetic limb, repeating the process on the metal leg when Jamison speechlessly handed it over. When she'd finished she funneled the water back to the bottle, screwed on the lid, and tossed it in the garbage can.

“Hooley dooley...” Jamison muttered, looking at the shiny prosthetics like they were made of gold. Noa beamed at him, then softened her expression.

“Do you want help getting them on?” And just like that, Jamison's cheeks went red again and he shook his head vehemently.

“Nah. No. I can handle it.” He hauled the leg beneath the duvet, trying in vain to strap it on without seeing. All his movements caused the blanket to fall down to his lap. He swore when his amputated arm was revealed, dropping the prosthetic leg to slap a hand over the scarred stump left behind. “Fucking _shit_.” He grimaced, not meeting Noa's eyes as shame colored his face. “Sorry.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why are you sorry?” She got a wrinkle between her eyebrows when she frowned. Jamison was probably the first to know that; she never frowned. He wanted to gawk at the new expression, but she was still waiting on an answer, and he realized he didn't have one.

“It's not a pretty thing to look at,” he said finally, shrugging. “Didn't think you'd wanna see something like that.”

“I'll show you mine if you show me yours.” Her voice was light, teasing almost, but there was no doubt of her sincerity when Jamison worked up the courage to look her in the eyes. He let his hand drop away, showing her the amputation site. When she didn't cringe or wince, he twitched aside the blanket to reveal his leg, too. Still no reaction.

“You look like you see this kinda stuff all the time,” Jamison commented, trying for nonchalance but genuinely shocked at her lack of disgust. This wasn't how he'd imagined it going. Not one bit.

“I grew up around the ocean,” she said easily, “with a lot of people who spent a lot of time in the water. Shark bites can take off limbs. You're definitely not the first amputee I've seen.” Noa reached out for his arm, pausing as a request for permission. When he nodded, she trailed her fingers along the ridges of the scars, the end of the arm that had been stitched together. “I've always thought that the people who lose so much doing what they love, and then keep doing it, are the bravest people of all.”

She was _so close_ to him now, that sweet citrus smell filling his head. He could probably kiss her. He wanted to kiss her. The way she glanced down at his lips then leaned even closer likely meant she wanted to kiss him, too. And, well, he was hardly one for hesitation. Jamison slid his hand around the back of her neck, slotting his lips against hers. Noa, in response, draped both arms around his neck, shifting until she was almost in his lap.

The kiss was a mix of personality. Jamison was high-energy, quick breaths and nipping teeth, fiercely gripping the hair at the nape of Noa's neck. In contrast Noa was languid, trailing her fingers along the top of Jamison's spine, keeping her lips soft and pliant. It was, Jamison thought, possibly the greatest kiss to have ever happened in human history. His hand slipped further down her back, but he jerked away when he was met with the rough ridges of scar tissue instead of the smooth skin he was anticipating.

“My scars,” Noa murmured, shifting away from him with flushed cheeks. She turned her back on him, drawing her dark hair like a curtain over one shoulder. Jamison barely stifled his noise of surprise. Long, angry red lines scored from shoulderblade to shoulderblade, crossing in some places and forming huge welts. “Sharks aren't the only dangerous things in the ocean,” she said with a little laugh. “I tried to backflip off my board at the crest of a wave. Landed right on a jellyfish.”

“Crikey. Do they hurt?”

“Not much anymore. But they're not really pretty to look at, huh?” She glanced back at him with a wry smile. Jamison couldn't suppress a laugh nor a grin of his own.

“They look pretty on you, gorgeous.” Noa rolled her eyes and turned back around, shoving his shoulder.

“Aussie charmer,” she said, reaching for his prosthetics. “Put these on. It's ramen night and I'm starving.” So Jamison reattached his arm and leg and stood up, briefly marveling at the way he now towered over Noa; they'd never been close enough for him to notice that she barely reached his shoulder.

“Can I escort you to dinner, my lady?” Jamison asked with a cheeky grin and theatrical bow. Noa smiled up at him playfully, reaching out a hand and curling her flesh-and-blood fingers around the cold, clean metal of his prosthetic without even a wince.

“You're a menace.”

“But now I'm _your_ menace,” he said, then glanced down at her, “right?”

“Yes, _kolohe_ , you're stuck with me now.”


End file.
